By your side
by immature-girl
Summary: Starting a relationship is one thing. Surviving one, well, that's another thing altogether... -Written for the 30 day drabble challenge.
1. Beginning

"So," John said, trying to catch his breath. "You kissed me."

"Obviously." Sherlock's hands were resting on the small of his back, his eyes roaming all over his face. "And you kissed me back."

John huffed, but his expression dropped slightly and he bit his lip, suddenly unsure. "Was this... was this an experiment, or-"

"No." Sherlock's hold tighten, pulling John closer against his chest. "I care about you. You know that. And I realized, a few weeks ago, that what I felt for you wasn't strictly platonic. After I deduced you felt the same way, but would never risk taking the first step, I thought I should take the matter into my own hands."

"Oh," John's shoulders slumped in relief. He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair, until he reached the back of his head, pulling at it gently to bring him forward, their mouths brushing against each others. "Then, if I may make a small deduction myself, I presume you wouldn't be terrible opposed if I took you to bed now."

"Really? And how did you reach that conclusion?"

"Simple," John whispered, their breaths mingling together, a grin spreading on his face, "you're as hard as a rock. As I am."

"Hmm," Sherlock brushed his nose lightly against John's, and nipped at his lower lip. "Better do something about it, then."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

So, I'll hopefully update this every day. _Hopefully._

Enjoy x


	2. Accusation

"John, you should think this through."

John glanced at Sally, lips tightening, and made sure to lower his voice, not wanting to distract Sherlock. "Donovan, while I... appreciate your concern, I really don't think my relationship with Sherlock is any of your business. As I've told you already. _Repeatedly_."

"John, you're being ridiculous," she huffed. "You could have anyone you want, and yet, you choose a psychopath who keeps you around because you're convenient."

"Sally, I'm serious. _Piss. Off_."

"God, you even sound like him. You shouldn't-"

"Would you two shut up," Sherlock snarled, kneeling besides the dead woman on the floor. "If you can't be quiet, then leave."

Donovan sent John a pitying smile, the 'I told you so' evident on her face. They both turned around to leave the room, when Sherlock's baritone voice spoke up again.

"John, I didn't mean you. Donovan, please make yourself useful somewhere else."

Donovan sent a last glance at John and left the room, muttering darkly to herself. John waited until she was out of earshot and shuffled closer to Sherlock, kneeling beside him.

"I assume you heard our conversation."

"Impossible not to. You were being too loud." Sherlock turned his head to look at John, his gaze softening. "You know you're not just convenient, do you?"

"'Just'?"

"You know what I mean."

"I know, Sherlock." John sighed, "And I think you made that rather clear, asking _only_ her to leave. Very subtle."

"Thank you." He returned his attention to the body, a grin spreading on his face. "I actually need you to inspect the corpse, of course, but why not killing two birds with one stone?"


	3. Restless

"John. John, wake up. Come on."

Sherlock could feel a knot of anxiety forming in his abdomen. He had John pinned firmly against the mattress, careful not to touch his shoulder, and he had been trying to wake him up for two minutes now. John's hands were curled tightly on the bed sheets, his jaw firmly clenched, small whimpers escaping his lips every few seconds.

"John, please, wake up. _John_."

He brought a hand up to touch John's face, to try to shake him out of his nightmare, but John's trashing caused him to bump his left shoulder. The reaction was immediate.

Sherlock found himself lying face down on the floor, John's weight pushing him down, with an arm wrapped forcefully around Sherlock's neck. He tried to talk, but the hold was too strong, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he passed out from oxygen depravation.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure on his throat vanished, along with the weight on top of him.

He spent a few seconds trying to get his breath back, before looking around him for John. He found him sat on the floor, his back resting on the wall and his head between his legs, trembling, his fist clenched together tightly against the top of his head.

"John-"

"Don't," came the soft reply. John lift up his head, looking distraught and haggard, his lips set in a thin line. "Please, don't."

"John, I'm fine. It wasn't your-"

"Sherlock, I fucking attacked you. Don't you dare tell me it wasn't my fault."

"If it's anyone's fault, it's mine; I shouldn't have touched your shoulder wound."

"God, are you even listening to yourself?" John stood up, shaking all over, using the wall to support himself. "I knew this was a bad idea," he whispered, looking at the floor. "Sleeping on the same bed was a mistake, I should go back to my room."

"No." He walked up to John, standing as close to him as he could under the circumstances, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. "It was an accident. It won't happen again. It's fine."

"Sherlock, it's not fine," he cried, "I hurt you. God, I could have-" He broke off, taking a deep breath, and he leant forward, until his head rested on Sherlock's chest, his hand closing softly around his wrist.

"John," knowing that it was safe now, he curled an arm protectively around John, bringing him closer against him. "John, I promise you, I am completely unharmed. There may be some bruising," he added, reluctantly, "but nothing else. It was an accident. It won't happen again. I'll just have to be more careful in the future when waking you up."

"You shouldn't have to do this," John's shoulders drop, and his voice was merely a whisper, as if he was talking to himself. "You shouldn't have to deal with things like this, it's not-"

"Isn't this what people in a relationship do? Comfort their partners?"

John drew out a breath, but then Sherlock felt him smiling softly against him. "Yes, it is." The hand on his wrist moved, until John found his hand, giving it a small squeeze. "Thank you."


	4. Snowflakes

"Remind me again why we're doing this."

"Because it's almost Christmas, and I promised I would let you do that experiment you've been nagging at me about for a week, if you agreed."

Sherlock pouted, muttering under his breath, "not sure it's worth it anymore."

"Oh, hush, it won't take that long," John said distractedly, a look of concentration on his face. "Besides, you are the one who said, and I quote, 'John, if you think I'm going out shopping for _Christmas decorations _then you're even more idiotic than Anderson'. Me, as the considerate partner that I am, granted your wish and found a solution that would satisfy us both." He threw a glance at Sherlock, a cocky grin spreading on his face.

"Don't make me stab you with these scissors, John. Ms. Hudson will have a fit if we ruin her carpet. _Again_."

"_We_? You dropped acid on the floor, in case you've deleted the incident already."

"And whose fault was that?"

"Excuse me?"

"You had got out of the shower wearing only your towel. It was distracting."

"I-" John looked baffled for a second, but he burst out laughing when his brain caught up. "You're unbelievable." He leaned across the table, catching Sherlock's mouth in a brief kiss.

After about two hours of painfully focused expressions on John's part, and of brooding frustration on Sherlock's, they were finally done.

"Well, they look..."

"Original?" John suggested.

"I was going to say 'dreadful', but have it your way."

John snorted. "Yours may look dreadful, what with your inability to follow a simple pattern, instead opting to cut off the pointy ends. Mine, however, look marginally better, at least."

"If by 'marginally better' you mean 'made by a two year old', then yes, I agree."

Five minutes later, after using the snowflakes as projectiles and having ruined the carpet -_again_- after they knocked off an ongoing experiment from the table, they reached the conclusion that maybe buying a pre-decorated Christmas tree, to be delivered, would be the most sensible solution. Probably one for Ms. Hudson, too, if they wanted to avoid her scold when she found out about the carpet.


	5. Haze

The case had been going on for days now, with almost no time in between for sleep or food. John had tried to catch a few quick naps when he could, and to take a few bites of anything at hand at least once a day, when possible.

But of course, he was no Sherlock Holmes. He couldn't function properly without sleep and an empty stomach, and he felt like he had been going on auto-pilot most of the time. He tried to cover it up, of course, not wanting to annoy Sherlock, whose excited mood kept him going, but he had seen the concerned glances Lestrade sent his way every time they met up with him.

But Sherlock was so close to figure it out now, if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by, so they made their way to the Yard to confirm some evidence with Lestrade, and hopefully apprehend the suspect.

But his body betrayed him, and while Sherlock explained his deductions, pointing the police to the victim's murderer, John passed out quietly in the corner, the last thing he saw being Lestrade's alarmed expression.

It was warm when he woke up, and comfortable, which was odd, because he was sure a cold, hard floor wasn't suppose to feel like that. He tried to move, but a long arm sneaked around his waist, a forehead resting on the nape of his neck.

"You're awake," Sherlock whispered.

John turned around, Sherlock's hold loosening for a second, before pulling him against his chest again. He slowly opened his eyes, his brain finally catching up, and realized he was laying on their bed.

His eyes focused, and he frowned at the expression on Sherlock's face. "All right?"

Sherlock snorted, but there was no bite behind it. "You lose consciousness, and the first thing you do when you wake up is ask if _I'm_ all right?"

"You look... upset," he said, finally.

"I-" Sherlock closed his eyes, resting his forehead against John's. "You need to tell me. When I'm on a case, everything else becomes inconsequential, so I don't... I can't see if you're tired, or hungry. You need to tell me, so I can slow down."

"I didn't want to distract you."

"I'm giving you permission to do so," he breathed out. "I'm not saying I'll be particularly gracious if the situation arises, but I don't... want you unwell."

"Okay." John smiled. "I'll let you know in the future. I promise."

"Good." Sherlock relaxed, a small smile forming on his face. "Not to mention Lestrade threatened to take Anderson to every future crime scene unless I promised to take better care of you. And I obviously couldn't let that happen."

John smacked his arm. "Git."


	6. Flame

"John, before you start yelling at me, you should know that this wasn't in any way intentional."

"Well, I should hope so. Otherwise, I should start getting worried about you being a pyromaniac, considering this is the fourth time you've set the kitchen on fire."

"Third, actually. That other instance merely involved a bit of-" John raised his eyebrows, "Fine, a _big_ amount of smoke. But no fire."

John sighed, running a hand over his face. "Not the point, Sherlock."

"It was a mistake," Sherlock muttered, frustration evident on his voice. He sunk further into the couch, crossing his arms. "You were supposed to be happy."

"I- what?"

"It was meant to be a surprise," he explained, averting his gaze. "I was... baking."

"You were baking."

"Yes."

"Because..?"

"Because it came to my attention that it was Valentine's day last week, and you were probably upset I hadn't remembered."

John sighed, unable to stop the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You're an idiot." Sherlock looked affronted, but relaxed slightly when John leaned down to drop a soft kiss on his lips. "I don't need you to bake me anything, and I don't need to celebrate a commercialized holiday."

"But-"

"Though, I certainly wouldn't mind if you wanted to make up for it in... other ways."

"Oh, is that it." Sherlock grinned, pulling at John until he was sitting on his lap.

"Hmm," John brushed his lips against Sherlock's and bit lightly at his lower lip. "But just so we're clear, you'll be cleaning the mess you made in the kitchen afterwards."


	7. Formal

**Attention**: A bit of smut ahead, though nothing too graphic.

* * *

"What is this?" asked John, staring at the box Sherlock had shoved at him in confusion. "And don't say 'It's a box'," he added, glaring at Sherlock, who snorted in response.

"Then ask the right questions. I assume you meant what's _inside_ the box."

"Sherlock..."

"It's a suit."

John furrowed his brows. "A suit?"

"Really, John, must you repeat-"

"Why did you get me a suit?"

"For a case. Obviously."

"Explain." John sighed, resisting the urge to smack him.

"We have a case that requires us to blend in at a formal event and, to my knowledge, you don't own any suits. At least not appropriate ones for the occasion," he added with a small grin.

"Yes, _thank you_."

"Come on, go change," he said, pushing John to he bedroom, and closing the door behind him.

* * *

"So? What do you think?"

Sherlock turned his head towards him and stared.

And kept staring.

Still nothing.

"Sherlock?" John looked down at himself, suddenly nervous. "Something wrong?" He turned around, showing the suit from every angle, trying to find the reason for Sherlock's reaction.

He walked to the mirror, his back to Sherlock, staring at his reflection in confusion. A second later, a pair of hands moved down to his backside, Sherlock's body pressed firmly against his. Or, well, as firmly as he could, when he was trying to shove his hands down John's trousers to grope his arse.

"Do you have any idea," Sherlock said, his harsh breath warm against his neck, sending tingles down his spine, "How you look right now?"

"Good, I presume?" John gasped.

"You look gorgeous." He moved his hand to John's front; one hand on his hip, the other one brushing against his hardening cock. "I want to fuck you while you're wearing this. Would you let me, John?"

"Yes. God, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock turned John around and kissed him, hard and fast, while he manhandled him back into their bedroom.

"Wait, Sherlock- Wait." John managed to get out, when his back hit the door.

Sherlock pulled back, looking annoyed. "What? What is it?"

"The case; you said-"

"The case can wait. I want _you_." He pressed his forehead against John's, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath.

John's breath hitched and he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, knowing that if he said something he wouldn't be able to keep the _'I love you' _on the tip of his tongue to himself.


	8. Companion

"All right, I'm off. Sure you don't want to come?" John asked Sherlock, who was curled up on the sofa, facing away from him.

"Of course not. I wouldn't want to_ intrude _in your meeting with _Greg_, after all."

"Oh, for God's-" He brushed a hand over his face and nudged Sherlock's legs, so he could sit at the edge. "Please, tell me you're not jealous."

He felt Sherlock tense slightly beside him. "Do I have any reason to be?"

"Of course not, you idiot."

Sherlock turned around, arms crossed over his chest. "Then why do you have to go?"

John didn't know whether to strangle him or laugh anymore. His adorable pout wasn't helping, either.

"Because he's a friend. Besides, I did ask you to come with me; you have no reason to worry."

"But it'll be boring." He grimaced.

"I'll go on my own then," John said. He tried to get up, but Sherlock's arm shot up and grabbed his hand, pulling him down again.

"No." He curled up around him, draping a hand around his hips.

Possessive git.

"Sherlock," he run his hand though his curls, trying to soothe him, "Either come with me or stay, but I'm going. I promise I won't stay for long, okay?"

"... Fine. I'll go with you."

Damn.

* * *

"It's been thirty minutes already."

John repressed a sigh. "Congratulations. You have learned how to count."

"_John_."

"Why did you invite him, again?" asked Lestrade, amused despite himself.

"To prevent you from taking advantaged of me while I was inebriated."

"I was not-"

"Sorry, John, but you're not my type," said Lestrade, interrupting Sherlock, who sent him an angry glare.

"Hmm, same here. I seem to be more attracted to the tall and dark-haired type."

"Not to mention annoying," Lestrade muttered.

"You do remember I'm right here, don't you?" Sherlock sat back on his chair, a pout forming on his lips.

"How could we not? You've been acting like a child forced to accompany his mum to Tesco's since we left the flat."

Sherlock crossed his arms, sinking further into his chair.

"I'll go get another pint, shall I? I think we'll need it," said Lestrade, and left with a clasp at John's shoulder.

"Hey," John sat closer to Sherlock, nudging his side with his arm. "You can leave if you want; I know this isn't exactly your cup of tea. I'm sorry if we're making you uncomfortable."

Sherlock sighed, resting his head on John's shoulder as a peace offering. "It's fine. It's not as unbearable as I thought it would be."

"Good." John smiled, and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "I promise to make it up to you when we get home."

"I'll hold you to that."


	9. Move

Sherlock had been lying on the sofa for three days now, and John was starting to get worried.

Sherlock had told him, when they first met, that he could go days without uttering a single word. Apparently, he could also go days without moving _at all, _which had caused him to panic for a second, until he had seen the slight movement of Sherlock's rib cage.

It had been almost three weeks since the last case, and John had been honestly surprised Sherlock had been so... calm about it, at least for his standards. Of course, he now realized Sherlock hadn't been calmed in the slightest, and he had been sinking into one of his dark moods.

While Sherlock had told John about them, he had never witnessed one, until now. But what actually bothered him wasn't the slightly disturbing image of Sherlock laying like a corpse on the couch, or the unnerving silence enveloping he flat, but how _depressive_ actually was to see Sherlock like this.

He knew he would never understand how Sherlock felt, what it was like to be inside his head, but it killed him knowing that there was nothing he could do to make it better.

Later that day, when the sun was coming down and the flat was being swallowed by darkness, Sherlock finally moved.

Slowly, he turned his head towards John, who was sitting on the armchair closest to him. He then turned his body to the side, now completely facing John, and stared at him, speechless.

Sherlock looked so miserable that John could feel his own heart clenching painfully on his chest. He tried to think of what to do now, if he should say something or wait until Sherlock spoke, when he saw it.

Sherlock's trembling hand, which had been resting against his chest, was carefully moving forward, brushing lightly against the couch, until it was resting against the edge.

A request.

John breathed out, letting the tension slip off his shoulders, and got up. He crawled in behind Sherlock and carefully curled his arm around him, nuzzling lightly at his neck. He could feel Sherlock's slow breathing and eventually, his hand found his away to John's, entwining their fingers together.

Maybe he couldn't make it better, couldn't give Sherlock what he needed. But he could be there, by his side, through it all. And maybe that could be enough.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I have the feeling I completely screwed up the tenses in this. Apologies.


	10. Silver

"Mycroft, we have talked about this already. If you want something, call me. On my _phone_."

"Oh, John, surely you didn't think I would handle such an important conversation over the phone. You know I prefer to... _converse_ face to face." John arched an eyebrow. "Please, John, we are smart people. You don't need me to spell it out for you, I imagine?"

"I assume we're talking about my... relationship with your brother."

Mycroft smirked. "And what does that relationship entail, exactly?"

"Oh, God." John leaned back on his seat and threw his head back. "Please tell me this isn't the 'if you hurt my brother I'll hurt you - Holmes edition' talk. What will you do? Ship me to a deserted island? Send an assassin to whip me from existence?"

Mycroft repressed the urge to snort, and instead glared at him. "I'm not concerned about _him_, John. Quite the contrary, in fact."

"Wait, you're worried about me?" He huffed, but instantly sobered up when he realized Mycroft was being serious. "No offence, but I can take care of myself. I know what I got into when we started this."

"Do you, really? You know him, John. Nothing can hold his attention for long. What do you think will happen to you when he finally gets bored of... _this_," he said, the '_you_' obviously implied.

John's lips tightened. "Don't-"

"You love him."

"Just leave it. As I said, it's none of your business." He looked away, not wanting to face the look of pity on Mycroft's face.

"As you wish, John," he said, finally.

* * *

"Oh, you're home. I need your help with-" Sherlock frowned and got up, walking up to him, a thunderous expression on his face. "What did he say?"

"What?"

"You talked to Mycroft, and he has clearly upset you. What did he say?"

John sighed, but reached out to caress his cheek, a small smile forming on his lips. "Nothing of importance. Don't worry about it."

Sherlock still looked sceptical, so he pulled him in for a kiss, hoping to distract him. Sherlock kissed him back hungrily, pinning him against the wall, a hand sneaking down to curl around his waist.

"Would it help," Sherlock whispered, brushing his lips against his earlobe, "if I asked for your assistance in an experiment involving handcuffs? I'm sure the results will be more than satisfactory. For both of us."

"It would." John smiled, attaching their lips together once more, pushing his conversation with Mycroft out of his mind.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Remember how everyone was so happy because 'omg so much fluff'?  
Yeah, about that...  
I apologise in advance.


	11. Prepared - 1

"We're going on a date."

John faltered for a second, but continued typing, trying to appear calm. "Case?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "No. I made reservations. At Angelo's."

"Experiment, then?"

Sherlock walked up to him, snapping his laptop shut, and grabbed his chin to make eye contact. "I am asking you out on a date, no ulterior motives. Will you come?"

John hesitated, but then smiled warmly at him. "All right. Lead on."

* * *

"When you asked me out on a date, I thought it would be just the two of us."

"Is that mandatory?"

"Usually." John sighed, unable to conceal his disappointment.

Sherlock brushed their thighs together under the table. "I'm sorry if it's not what you expected. I didn't know. I just wanted you to meet someone."

"And who is this _someone_ we are waiting for, if I may ask?"

"Victor Trevor. We were... together at Uni. When we broke up, we remained friends, and since he told me he would be coming back to England, well... I figured you two could meet."

John tensed up, but forced himself to relax, not wanting to alert Sherlock. "Why did you broke up? If you don't mind-"

"He wanted to travel. I had no intention to leave London. We weren't keen on doing a long distant thing, and we both knew it would fail, so..."

"Oh."

Sherlock turned to look at him properly. "All right?"

"Of course."

"John, you're a terrible liar. You are upset. What's wrong?"

He squirmed on his seat and looked out of the window, unsure whether to ask his next question. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

"John, I told you we're just friends," Sherlock answered after a beat.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Another beat. "I think I will always _have feelings _for Victor, as you said. He was brilliant John, someone who could keep up with me, not to mention his love for science. If he hadn't left-"

"Would you say yes, now?" John turned around, staring intently at Sherlock. "When he arrives now, if he tells you he wants to stay in England, if he tells you he wants you back, would you say yes?"

"John," Sherlock tried to catch his hand, but John moved it out of reach. "John, I- We're together, why are you-"

"Yes or no, Sherlock."

Sherlock's lips tightened and he looked away, drawing out a breath. "... I don't know."

John nodded to himself, trying to fight the lump forming in his throat. He got up, but Sherlock's hand shot up, enclosing his wrist.

"John, please."

"I'm just going back home, all right? I'll see you later." He tugged his wrist from Sherlock's grip and left, putting his hands in his pockets to conceal the returning tremor on his left hand.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I'm pretty sure this turned out horrible, but I've been busy today and I didn't have much time for writing, and I didn't want to leave you all hanging. So please, let me know if you see any mistakes.

Also: This is the first part (of three) of the 'omg angst what' arc. I know, awesome name.

Hope you enjoy x


	12. Knowledge - 2

"I thought John was going to join us tonight," said Victor, a look of concern on his face.

"He was."

Victor sighed. "You two had a fight before I arrived, didn't you?"

Sherlock leaned back, his gaze fixed on the untouched plate in front of him. "I screwed up," he muttered. "It was bound to happen eventually, but..."

"What happened?"

"I told him about us and he got upset."

Victor narrowed his eyes. "There's something else. Out with it."

Sherlock huffed. "I may have-" He looked up, bracing himself. "He asked me whether I would get back together with you, if you asked. I said I didn't know."

Victor looked at him for a few seconds, his expression neutral. "That's the most idiotic lie you have ever told."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock stilled, completely out of guard.

"Sherlock, I've known you for years. I probably know everything there is to know about John and your relationship with him, not to mention you've been talking non stop about him since you met the man. If you think I'm going to believe you would _ever_ leave John Watson behind, then I'll have to start questioning our whole friendship."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Sure of that, are you?"

"You love him, and it scares you half to death." Sherlock drew in a sharp breath. Victor's gaze softened, and he leaned forwards, never breaking eye contact. "While a part of me will always wonder what we could have been -and I know you have, too-, I'm not stupid enough to believe you were actually in love with me. Not like this, at least."

"Victor-"

"I'm not upset; I'm just stating a fact. He's been good for you, Sherlock. He makes you happy. Don't push him away just because you're afraid."

Victor smiled softly at him, and got up. "I should be going. I leave tomorrow afternoon, so come around at noon if you have some time. And do manage to bring John along, this time." He stepped closer to Sherlock, and with a sad smile, he bent forwards and gave him a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Go. Fix it. And make sure you call me after the celebratory sex is over."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Such a short chapter, and no John. In my defense, tomorrow's chapter will be long. Too long, considering these are supposed to be *gasp* drabbles (Some day, I will understand the meaning of the world drabble. Today is not that day.)

Also, do you have any idea how much Victor backstory I thought about while writing this? DO YOU KNOW HOW SAD IT IS, THAT IT'S TECHNICALLY COMPLETELY USELESS?

*sigh*

See you all tomorrow for the resolution of this super exciting arc x


	13. Denial - 3

When Sherlock came back to the flat, he discovered that John wasn't there. He was just about to panic, when he saw the note waiting for him on the kitchen table, saying that John had gone out to the pub with Lestrade and that he would came back later.

He relaxed, even if he was still on edge, and tried to distract himself with his current experiment.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

Two hours later, when he was officially at the end of the rope, having resorted to _crap telly _of all things, he received a text from Lestrade, telling him that he and John had gotten a bit too drunk, so John had crushed at his place.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

"You should reconsider your definition of the word drunk."

"Sorry?" John, who had barely closed the front door behind him, stilled.

"You are not hangover, though you do look tired. You didn't have much sleep, I presume?"

"Is there a point to all this?" John asked, annoyed.

Sherlock remained quiet, not taking his eyes off him. John sighed and moved to the kitchen, doing his best to ignore Sherlock's eyes following him.

"You're still upset."

John jumped in surprise, and turned around to find Sherlock looming over him.

"Oh, no, I'm completely fine. Hearing my partner confess he wants to get back with his ex, thus meaning I'm basically a bed warmer until the time comes, hasn't affected me at all."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped. "That's not- John, I didn't mean-"

"I think you made yourself quite clear yesterday. There's nothing to talk about." He tried to move past Sherlock, but the detective's hand caught him by the elbow, pulling him closer to him.

"I don't understand why you're so upset. What I said doesn't mean anything, it's not like it will ever happen. Why do you even-"

"Because I'm in love with you, you git," John snapped. He stopped on his tracks, his lips tightening, and he looked away.

_John loved him._

_Of course he did, it was obvious._

He tried to focus his thoughts, but his brain seemed to have stopped completely.

He managed to regain enough of his senses to see John tense up, ready to shook off his hand and leave.

He had to say something, to tell him, he-

"I know."

_What?_

_No, no, no, that wasn't-_

He caught a glimpse of John's crestfallen face, before his expression closed off.

"Of course you do." John shook his hand off, went to grab his coat, and left, leaving Sherlock staring at the place he had been standing a second ago in bewilderment.

_Idiot._

* * *

"... Please, explain to me how someone so brilliant can be so incredibly _thick_."

"It was not my fault, my brain just... glitched."

Victor sighed, the urge to bang his head against the table looking extremely appealing.

No, scratch that. The urge to strangle Sherlock was stronger. He took another sip of his tea, thinking about all the reasons why he shouldn't do it.

_Yet._

"Sherlock, I have to leave in 2 hours, and as much as I would like to stay and lecture you to death, I can't."

Sherlock leaned back on his seat, crossing his arms in front of him.

"Stop sulking. This is entirely your fault, so if you expect John to forgive you, you better start taking responsibility for it."

"I'm not-" He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "I don't know what to do. You know I've never been good at this."

"Hmm," Victor smiled fondly. "I seem to remember someone who thought that the definition of 'date' involved sneaking in the science lab at three in the morning _and _being suspended for a week after being caught. Sounds familiar?"

Sherlock glared at him. "That was _not _my fault, if you hadn't been so loud-"

"And if you hadn't lectured the guard about how his wife was cheating on him and how useless he was at his job..."

"I wasn't- No, stop, I'm not arguing with you about this."

_Or in other words: You are right but I refuse to admit defeat._

"Hey," Victor bumped his feet under the table, looking serious. "Just be honest with him. The man loves you, I'm sure he's willing to listen if you approach this in a less... Sherlocky way."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Don't force him to listen and don't corner him. _Ask him _to give you a chance to explain yourself. And don't be a git while doing so," he smirked.

Sherlock sighed, suddenly looking more vulnerable than he had ever seen him. "I can't lose him."

"You won't."

* * *

"John."

John's typing faltered for a second, but he kept going, not giving any other indication he had heard him.

"John, please. Can we talk?"

John stilled. He turned his head to glance at Sherlock and reluctantly shut off his laptop.

"All right. What is it?"

Sherlock's shoulders slumped in relief, and he moved to sit in the chair in front of John.

"I wanted to apologise. I- I didn't handle this situation very well." John still looked wary, so he continued. "I lied to you. When you asked me what would I say if Victor asked me to get back together with him, I lied."

John frowned. "You said you didn't know..." He started, carefully.

"I should have said no."

"Why?"

Sherlock's eyes found his, and he seemed to be bracing himself. "Because," he drew in a breath. "Because I love you."

John's breath hitched, his eyes widening in surprise.

He had always wondered how Sherlock felt about him -and granted, after their argument, the small hope he held had shattered completely-, but even when he let himself think that Sherlock might actually love him back, he had never thought he would _actually _say it.

"John? Please, say something."

Realizing he had stayed quiet for far too long, he let out a shaky breath and said, "You idiot. Why didn't you said so before, instead of telling me-"

"I was... uncertain," Sherlock whispered. "You know I'm not- I've never felt like this before, John. Not even with Victor." Sherlock seemed to have reached his limit by now, and simply clenched his jaw shut, looking away.

A second later, he felt a hand on his face, and he turned to find John looming over him.

"I should smack you, you know," John said, his thumb caressing his cheekbone.

"Luckily for you, that has been taken care of already. Twice."

John huffed, smiling despite himself. "I should thank Victor, then, I think." His expression turned serious again. "I do have to apologise too, though, for overreacting. He's-"

"Don't worry about it. As long as we take a weekend off to Paris to meet up with him, we're forgiven."

John smiled again, and leaned closer to him. "Good. That's good."

Sherlock reached out to curl his hand at John's nape, pulling him in until their lips were brushing together.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

Their breaths mingled together, and John whispered a tender "I love you, too," before closing the gap between them.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

My god, this turned out long.  
Sooo, the 'omg angst what' arc is finally over!  
Now we can go back to our beautiful fluff.

Next chapter: John drowns.

Wait, what.


	14. Wind

"You have to be more careful. You can't- You are not allowed to die." Sherlock pulled John even closer, his face hidden in the crook of his neck.

John, who was underneath him, ran his hand through Sherlock's dark curls, and gave him a light kiss on the temple. "I'm fine. The doctors didn't even insist on keeping me overnight at the hospital, so there's nothing to worry about."

"You weren't breathing." Sherlock let out a shaky breath, pressing his lips to John's pulse point.

_He dragged John's body out of the water, hearing the sound of sirens in the distance. _

_He immediately started heart compressions, his eyes glancing at the blow John had received to the head. He opened John's mouth, pressing their lips together, and breathed out._

_Nothing._

_He kept going, the sirens sounding closer now. He knew he was probably applying too much pressure; he was surprised he hadn't broken any ribs yet._

_He pressed their lips together again and exhaled, bringing up a shaking hand to feel John's pulse. It was there, but slowing down, fast._

_NonononoJohnyouhavetobreathyoucan't-_

"You weren't breathing; your heart had stopped. You had a mild concussion, and it's a miracle I didn't broke any ribs. You are _not_ fine."

"Sherlock, look at me." He pulled lightly at Sherlock's hair, seeking his eyes. "I know you were scared, but I am fine; I'm here." He frowned, concerned. "I've been in danger many times, we both have, and I've never seen you react like this. What is it?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead against John's. "Because... Because I finally tell you that I love you, and a week later you go and die on me. If you hadn't woken up-"

"Hey, all right, calm down," John whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw and his lips. He grabbed Sherlock's hand, leading it to his neck, so he could press his fingertips against his pulse. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry if I worried you, but- Well, it's going to take a lot more than a swim on the Thames to keep me away from you."

"Promise me," Sherlock said, opening his eyes and staring intently at him, with such a raw anxiety that John could feel a lump forming in his throat.

"I'll never leave you," he breathed against his mouth, Sherlock's gaze piercing right through him. "I promise."


	15. Order

"Sherlock, for God's- Why are there eyes in the microwave? _Again_?" John sighed, running a hand over his face.

He had just come home from a long shift at the clinic, and he was exhausted. Finding the kitchen table full of experiments -he didn't even want to know what half of them were, honestly-, a couple of suspicious boxes in the fridge -again, he _did not _want to know- and the eyes in the microwave didn't help improve his mood. _At all_.

"Experiment," Sherlock answered distractedly, focused on the microscope in front of him.

John clenched his jaw, not wanting to burst out at him. He knew he was probably overreacting, he was more than accustomed to Sherlock's experiments by now, but after a long day (well, 4 days, considering every single person in London seemed to think they were about to die from the flu), all he wanted was to come home, drink a cup of tea and drop dead on his bed.

He repressed another sigh and turned on the kettle. He opened the cupboard to grab a cup and a tea bag, but stopped dead on his tracks.

"Sherlock... where's the tea?"

"Hmm?"

"The tea, Sherlock. Where is it?"

"Oh, I needed it for an experiment."

John walked up to him, already feeling a headache coming. "You used _all _the tea? Couldn't you at least let me know before I came home?"

"You can go out now," he dismissed. "Now stay quiet; I'm busy."

John stared at him, weighting on the benefits of screaming at him and just let it go. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it, and with a tired sigh, he made his way upstairs to his old bedroom. He didn't feel like dealing with Sherlock again until tomorrow, and he figured the detective wouldn't even notice his absence anyways.

* * *

"John? John."

He opened his eyes, blinking away the last remains of sleep, trying to focus his gaze. He looked at the time, only to realize he had slept for only two hours.

"Sherlock," John groaned, burying his face in the pillow, "if you woke me up to help you with an experiment, I'll kill you."

"Why are you sleeping upstairs?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Because the kitchen is a mess and you deprived me of my tea."

"So you are... mad at me?"

John sighed, looking up at him. "I was, and I still am, a bit. I've been doing double shifts at the clinic for the past three days, Sherlock; I'm tired. Coming home to such a mess and finding out there was no tea left did nothing to improve my mood." Sherlock looked worried, so he added, "I'll probably feel better tomorrow, but I needed some space."

Sherlock nodded, avoiding his gaze. "Of course."

"Sherlock," John called, and the detective stilled, but didn't turn around. "We're fine, okay? I'm just tired."

"Of course, John. Good night."

* * *

The next morning, when John came downstairs, there was a warm cup of tea waiting for him at the kitchen table; which, for once, was not covered in Sherlock's experiments. He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and it widen when he saw the post-it note waiting for him next to it.

_'I hope you have a good day. Dinner tonight at Angelo's? My treat.'_


	16. Thanks

**Author's notes:** This is a continuation of the last chapter x

* * *

"Did you enjoy dinner?" Sherlock asked, nuzzling at John's neck, arms wrapped securely around his waist.

"Hmm. It was lovely."

Sherlock pulled back slightly, looking uncertain. "Are you sill upset?"

"I'm not." John sighed, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. "And I'm sorry about yesterday, I know I was overreacting. It just feels like too much sometimes."

"Do you want me to change? Because I can-"

"No," John said firmly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Never think that. I love you just as you are."

Sherlock let out a breath, inspecting John's face. "But there are some things that you don't like. Things that upset you."

"Well, yes, but that's normal. There will always be some things that you do that will piss me off, and I'll always do something that will bother you. Does that mean you want me to change?"

"No," Sherlock frowned, pulling John closer to him. "Of course not. But... aren't relationships about compromise, too?"

John sighed and smiled softly at him. "They are."

"Then tell me what I can do to prevent you from being upset. I don't like it."

"It's not that I'm upset, Sherlock, I just-" He broke off, picking his words carefully. "I feel... unappreciated sometimes. I clean up after you, step in as your sound board, do the shopping; and it feels as if it didn't matter sometimes." He huffed, shaking his head. "I know I'm being ridiculous. I don't even think that all the time, it just pops up when I'm in a bad mood, like yesterday, but-"

"You are important. Everything you do matters, John." Sherlock stared at him, a mix of incredulity and worry. "I know I don't always say it, but I appreciate what you do, whether you're helping me on a case, or taking care of the chores - God knows everything would be a disaster if it were up to me. I always notice, and I_ am _thankful. So please, don't ever think otherwise."

John smiled warmly at him, pulling him in for another kiss, resting his hand on the small of Sherlock's back. "I know, Sherlock. Thank _you_."

"What are you thanking me for?" Sherlock asked, confused, brushing his lips against John's.

"Just... for being you." _For choosing me. For being here. For everything._


	17. Look

"Here you go."

John looked up just in time to see a small box flying towards him. He frowned down at it, and then stared at Sherlock, confused.

"... What is this?"

"A present" Sherlock answered matter-of-factly, sitting on his armchair.

"Yes, Sherlock, I noticed. I mean _why_ are you giving me a present?"

"Isn't that what people do? On their anniversary?"

"I-" John regarded him curiously for a moment, before smiling warmly at him. "You remembered."

"Of course I did."

"I thought it would be the kind of thing you would delete from your hard drive," John chuckled.

"I don't delete anything concerning you, John. Ever."

John reached out to grab his hand, entwining their fingers together. "I feel terrible now; I didn't get you anything."

"I hardly mind, so don't worry about it," Sherlock snorted. "It's not like I spent long looking for your gift; you know I find shopping to be extremely tedious."

There was, of course, no need to mention John that he went to Mrs. Hudson's for help, then turned to Greg when that didn't work, and finally ended up being dragged through the shopping centre by Molly.

_Never. Again._

"Dinner tonight," John said, shaking his head. "I'll cook."

"If you wish." Sherlock leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes, but gave John's hand a light squeeze.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I know this is short, I'm really sorry. I'll be gone all day, so I I woke up super early just to give you today's chapter, otherwise I would have had to skip today. Hope you enjoy, anyways x


	18. Summer

"Joooohn, make it stop," groaned Sherlock, sprawled all over the sofa.

"This is your own fault, you know," John said, not looking up from his newspaper. "If you hadn't broken the fan-"

"It was an experiment!"

"Hmm. Hope it was worth it." John hid his smile behind the newspaper.

"It's disgustingly hot in here," Sherlock said eventually, rolling onto his front. "Do something."

"Well, I could turn on the- _oh, right_." This time John turned to Sherlock, smiling brightly at him, earning him an annoyed glare.

"You're not funny."

"I beg to differ."

Beam. "At least open a window."

"I've opened all of them already. Maybe if you took off that damn jacket-"

"No."

"Too bad, then."

Sherlock moved onto his back again, staring miserably at John. "John?"

"Hmm?"

"Please."

John stifled a groan and sighed, putting aside his newspaper and walking into the kitchen. "All right, give me a second." A moment later he came back, a cup filled with ice cubes on his hand.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked, looking warily at them.

"Ice, genius." John snorted. "Come on, roll over."

"Why?"

"_Now_."

Sherlock huffed, but did as he was told. "Anything else?"

"Hmm; no, that's fine." John sat at the edge of the sofa, next to Sherlock's legs, facing the detective's back.

"John, what are you-" Sherlock cut off with a shriek, and John had to bit his lip to hold in his laughter. "_What are you doing?"_

John had pulled up Sherlock's shirt and jacket, and trailed one of the icecubs over Sherlock's back. "What did you think the ice was for? You know, this would be much easier if you just removed everything from the waist up."

After a few seconds of cursing and clothes flying everywhere, Sherlock laid back again. John continued to trail the ice cube over Sherlock's back, enjoying the shivers left in his trail.

"Roll over."

John grinned mischievously and straddled Sherlock's hips this time, putting the ice cube on his mouth.

Sherlock watched mesmerized as John bent over, his mouth brushing his navel, then his chest, and eventually his neck. Sherlock's shivers hadn't stopped, and his hands had moved to John's waist, holding him firmly in place.

"Stop."

John leaned back and put the rest of the ice cube back on the cup. "What is it?"

Sherlock's hips thrust up, his erection pressing against John's. "Does that answer your question?"

John grinned. "Oh, but it's _so hot_, surely you wouldn't want to-"

"In the shower, then." He sat up, taking John's shirt off and unbuttoning his trousers. "Now."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Posting this chapter early again, because I won't be home until tonight and I didn't want to skip a day. This, thankfully, turned out longer than yesterday's chapter, but I had to do it in a rush, too, so apologies for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy x


	19. Transformation

"...Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you- Did you cut your hair? And why are you dressed like that?"

"Case." Sherlock frowned, noticing John's slightly upset expression. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, of course not. I just, well." He turned his gaze to Sherlock's hair, biting his lip. "I think I'll miss your curls. It's... odd seeing you without them."

Sherlock huffed. "Yes, you have always been ridiculously fond of running your hands through it." He walked up to him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "It will grow back in no time, so stop mentally crying over it."

"Yes, all right." John snorted, roaming his eyes over his attire. "What about those clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you wearing jeans before."

"Like them, don't you?" Sherlock grinned slyly, turning towards the mirror to assess his appearance. "As I said, it's for a case. Our suspect seems to be particularly talkative when presented with alcohol. And being chatted up by someone as handsome as me will make things easier."

"Please, stop being so modest," John said, rolling his eyes.

"You flatter me at least three times a day. Modesty is beyond me, by now."

"Hmm."

"...Are you staring at my arse?"

"You are wearing jeans. Extremely close-fitting jeans. What did you expect?"

Sherlock turned around and raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall. "I still have a few hours left until I have to go. Care to help me out of these?"

"Oh God, yes."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

A short one again, sorry D: Also a few things:

- These short chapters have some themes that will be touched upon in the very near future, so they're not completely useless.

- Get ready for another mini arc.

- I have started writing the Sherlock/Victor prequel, so I'll let you know here when it's done :)

Hope you enjoy x


	20. Tremble

"You're an idiot."

"Hmm."

"How did you even manage to get locked up inside a walk in freezer is beyond me."

"Just to clarify, I didn't do it on purpose. The criminal who locked me up there, however, might have."

Sherlock tightened his grip around John's waist, but leaned back slightly so he could make eye contact. "You are not funny. You could have died. _Again_."

"Well, you know how much I love danger." John grinned, but turned serious again when he saw Sherlock's distraught expression. "Sherlock, really, I'm fine. Just a bit cold."

Sherlock frowned, pressing himself closer to John, bringing up a hand to cradle John's cheek. "We're using every duvet in this flat already. Do you want me to get you my coat?"

"No, no; it's fine." John nuzzled at Sherlock's neck, his hand drawing small circles on the small of Sherlock's back. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"You can't keep doing this. How can you be so reckless-"

"I seem to recall someone who was about to run inside a burning building last week because 'John, those idiots forgot to check the left drawer in the victim's bedroom, there was obviously a crucial piece of evidence there that they missed'."

"I do not sound like that." Sherlock glared at him.

John bit his lip, trying to hold in his laughter. "Yes, you do."

"You're such a child."

"Says the one who-"

Sherlock cut him off with a kiss, nipping at his lower lip. "Stop it."

"Just saying." John's smile widened. "You know, there's another way to warm me up. Much more effective."

"Is that so?" Sherlock muttered, brushing his lips against John's cheek. "All right, then. Anything for my blogger."


	21. Sunset

"Please, do enlighten me on why you woke me up this early to visit the beautiful view or the flat's rooftop, only to sit on the floor -which is freezing, by the way."

"Have I ever mentioned how grumpy you are in the mornings?"

"This definitely doesn't count as 'morning'. It's too dark." John yawned, running a hand over his face, blinking away the last remains of sleep. "Seriously Sherlock; _why_? If this is for one of your experiments-"

"John, honestly, of all the times you assumed I was experimenting on you, how many were you actually right?"

John glared at him, and Sherlock had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Admittedly, you might have been right a few times," John snorted, but Sherlock simply ignored him, "but I assure you this has nothing to do with an experiment. I just though-" Sherlock cut off, turning his face away from John's inquisitive gaze. "Molly was talking to me about a movie the other day, while I was inspecting a body at the morgue. She said... well, that the main couple shared a sunset together, and she painted it as something especially romantic, and I simply thought... I thought you might enjoy it."

"That sounds nice, Sherlock, but in case your knowledge of the Solar System has damaged a few other files on your hard drive, we're actually about to witness the sunrise, which-"

"Yes, very funny." Sherlock's cheeks were slightly crimson, and John wasn't sure whether it had something to do with the cold weather or he was simply embarrassed, but he found it incredibly endearing. "I was going to suggest this yesterday evening, but _someone_ decided to stay overtime at the clinic, so..."

"Sherlock-"

"...not like the weather had been particularly clear yesterday either, so any attempts to appreciate a sunset would have been-"

"_Sherlock_."

"_What_, John?"

"...The sun has come up already."

Sherlock blinked at him, then turned his gaze to the sun, and finally looked back at John. He stifled a groan, dropping his head on his palm. "I'm blaming you for this. Do not expect me to try to be romantic _ever _again."

"Oh, thank God. Does that mean I can go back to sleep, then?"

* * *

**Author's notes:**

All right, a few things:

1- Sorry for posting this so late, I was a bit busy today *sigh*

2- Tomorrow starts our new arc, followed by a breather chapter, and then a final longer arc! Yay ~

3- Do you want to know the name of this new arc? Sure? Completely sure? Ok. This new arc will be called 'let us all kill the author because ANGST AGAIN NO'

4- It may be a bit long, I know. It fits, though.

5- Sorry.

6- Not sorry.


	22. Mad - 1

John stilled, completely taken off guard; pure dread washing over him.

"What did you say?" John managed to breath out, his voice hoarse.

"Hmm," Sherlock look distractedly at him, but did a double take when he saw John's expression. "John? What's wrong?"

"You slept with someone else."_ It couldn't be. Sherlock would never do that, he surely misunderstood-_

"Yes, I know; I've told you already. Though, I'm not sure if it even counts as sex, considering it was a mutual hand job, but..." He narrowed his eyes, confused. "Why are you so surprised? I told you. Remember that case, when I had to dress up? I wore those jeans you liked so much," he added, grinning slightly to relive the tension.

"You said you were going to chat him up, you never said-" John covered his mouth with a trembling hand, dropping his head, his eyes closed in an effort to remember what had happened, why he didn't see.

"I thought it was obvious." Sherlock said slowly, an edge of worry in his voice. "John please, talk to me. I don't understand-"

"No, you don't. You never do, Sherlock," he snapped. He raised his head, and Sherlock's eyes widened when he saw the unshed tears, and the hurt radiating from John's expression. "Did you delete the meaning of infidelity from your brain, too, or you just didn't care?"

"John, I think you misunderstood me," Sherlock said, his calm demeanour hiding how anxious he really was. "It was for a case. I would never betray you like that, you know I love you."

"I don't care why you did it, Sherlock, I don't-" John felt a lump forming n his throat, and he took a moment to compose himself. "I can't do this."

"John?"

John simply ignored him and he got up, walking into their bedroom to look for a suitcase. He couldn't deal with this right now, he needed to think, he had to-

"John, please. Don't leave."

John glanced at Sherlock for a second, barely noticing how distraught the man looked. He grabbed a few clothes and tossed them in, doing his best to ignore Sherlock's voice urging him to stay.

He walked past Sherlock, grabbing his keys on the way, and felt a hand on his wrist before he got to the door.

"Don't leave. Please, John, I-"

"I can't do this right now, Sherlock," he muttered, unable to hold his gaze. "I'm sorry."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

... I _did_ say those short chapters had a purpose *cough* I'll go hide under my bed now, ok? Ok.


	23. Thousand-2

'Please come back. SH'

'John, I'm sorry. SH'

'I thought you knew. SH'

'I thought you understood what I was going to do; I though it was fine. SH'

'You should know it didn't mean anything. It was for a case. SH'

'Please respond. SH'

'At least let me know when you're coming back. SH'

'You are coming back, aren't you? SH'

'John? SH'

'Say something. Anything. SH'

'Please. SH'

'I'm sorry. SH'

* * *

"You're turning it off?" asked Lestrade, sitting on the sofa beside him and handing him a cup of tea.

John sighed. "He keeps texting. I need some time to think, I can't- I can't deal with him right now."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?"

John's eyes snapped to him, completely bewildered. "You're_ defending _him? Greg, he-"

"Yes, he slept with another man._ For a case. _And while I certainly want to walk up to him and break his nose, I can't deny that he honestly didn't mean to cause you any harm."

"How could he not know I would be hurt by this? 'For a case' is not an acceptable excuse."

"Because your relationship is supposed to be more important?"

John's shoulders dropped. Lestrade sighed, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm not saying it's not; he obviously cares about you, about this _thing_ you two have. But you've been with him for how long, John? About a year and a half? You know what the job means to him, that's never going to change."

"I don't want him to change, but... It hurt, Greg. Maybe if he had told me about it, given me time to mull over it, it would have been different. I just... I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"You know what you were getting into when you got together with him. I'm not saying what he did was right," he hurried to explain," but I do think you should cut him some slack. He is obviously remorseful, if the constant texting is anything to go by."

"He looked confused, you know?" John whispered, his gaze unfocused. "He honestly couldn't see why I was so upset." He huffed, slowly shaking his head. "The way he told me about it... he just said it like an afterthought, like it was completely normal."

"John-"

"May I stay here tonight? Please?"

"Of course."


	24. Outside-3

**Warnings:** Mentions of drug use.

* * *

When night came, and John still hadn't replied any of his texts, Sherlock decided to go buy a packet of cigarettes. After all, if John wasn't coming back, what was the point of being cold turkey? Utterly useless.

But now, hours later, sitting on his armchair, staring anxiously at the small bag of cocaine in his hand, he tried to remember all the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

An hour later, he realized he couldn't think of any.

Half an hour later, he came to the conclusion that he didn't care.

* * *

He had been so focused, so lost in thought, that he didn't hear the front door opening; nor did he anticipate the sudden warm hand touching his own.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up and found John's concerned face right in front of him.

"I'm not high yet. Why are you...?" He frowned, looking down again. Why was John back? Had he come only to fetch the rest of his things?

"Give me the cocaine, Sherlock. Can you do that, love?" John whispered, running his thumb lightly on the back of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked at him again and slowly slid the bag onto John's hand, which then disappeared in the inside of his pocket.

"Are you leaving?" Sherlock breathed out, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.

"No. No, of course not." John reached out, running his hand through Sherlock's hair, knowing it always helped to relax him. "I shouldn't have left in the first place. I'm sorry."

Sherlock frowned. "Why are you apologising? I'm the one who- That is, I should have never-"

"No." John shook his head, pulling Sherlock closer to him. "You did nothing wrong. Well, okay, I would have appreciated a clearer heads-up," he added, grinning slightly, "but I should have understood that this is your job. This is what you do, what you _are_."

"I can change," Sherlock whispered. "If that's what you want, I-"

"But I don't want that. And you don't, either." John smiled sadly at him. "I'm not saying I'll always be completely rational when it comes to you being... well, you. But I promise you, I won't ever leave."

Sherlock drew out a breath, bending forwards to rest his forehead against John's, reaching out to cup his jaw.

"And I promise to be more... considerate in the future. To talk to you if I ever have to do something that may directly or indirectly involve our relationship. Is that acceptable?"

John's breath ghosted against his lips and he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of John's lips against his own, after thinking that he would never get to experience this again.

_"Thank you."_

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I'm so sorry about the delay. I ended up staying at a friend's house for two nights instead of one, so I wasn't home at all until a few hours ago.  
So, this is kind of the end to our 'let us all kill the author because ANGST AGAIN NO'. Tomorrow I'll post an 'interlude' of sorts, and then we'll start with the final arc ~

Also, thanks to the people who reviewed as guests, I'm very glad you're all enjoying this :)


	25. Winter

"We aren't alright," Sherlock whispered, his arm curled around John's waist. "Ever since our discussion, you've been quieter, and you have been working more hours at the clinic."

John avoided his eyes, and Sherlock had to gather all his will power not to simply hold John and kiss him, anything to wipe that miserable expression from his face.

"You're still upset. You said it was fine, that we were fine, but... we're not."

"Sherlock-" John's voice broke off. "I've forgiven you for what happened. I understand your reasons, but you have to understand this isn't easy for me. It still hurts, and knowing that you may do something like that again in the future..." John swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "I said I accepted you for who you are, that I understood. Now _you_ need to understand that I have the right to be upset over it, that even if it doesn't mean anything to you, it hurts. And I don't think that's not ever going to change."

Sherlock tightened his grip around John, pulling him closer, and pressed a rough kiss on his hair.

"John, I- I didn't mean to imply that I would do it again. Not something like what I did, at least. How could you think I would ever, after your reaction? After thinking I might lose you because of it?"

He closed his eyes, breathing John in, unable to fend off the image of John's face when he told him, his retreating back when he thought John was leaving for good. "I will never go that far again, John. I promise you. I'm sorry I can't undo what's already happened, but you need to talk to me about these things; don't just pull away from me."

"I wanted it to be alright," John croaked out. "I wanted to forget about it, but I just can't. I keep thinking-" he cut off and hid his face on Sherlock's neck, his hand finding Sherlock's shirt and gripping it tightly, as if to ground himself. "I keep thinking that maybe if you cared more about me, if I could actually compete with the work, this wouldn't have happened. That maybe this thing we have isn't enough, that-"

"Stop." Sherlock pulled John back, his hands finding John's face, cupping his cheeks, so he would finally look at him. "There is no competition, John. You come first, always. If I had known you would react like this, how much it would hurt you, I would have found another way. But I didn't know John; I'm sorry."

He rested his forehead against John's, his voice a mare whisper now. "You are enough. We are enough, John, never doubt that. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll show you how much you mean to me, I'll do anything. Please, just... come back to me. Stop pulling away; let me... let me make it better. _Please_."

John leaned in and kissed him, carding his fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was deep, but soft, both trying to convey everything they felt, everything left unsaid in it.

"John?" Sherlock muttered a few minutes later, both almost at the verge of sleep. "Remember what I gave you for our anniversary? Those coupons I gave you, which could be traded for a kiss, a hug, and all that nonsense?"

John huffed. "I do. I think it's in the drawer; thought it would be good for emergencies."

Sherlock nipped at his lower lip. "Funny. What I was trying to say is... well, if you had paid more attention to it, you would have seen I had added a few coupons myself."

John frowned. "What?"

Sherlock reached for the drawer and took hold of the coupons, passing them to John. John sent him a confused look, before inspecting the coupons more closely.

'Clear up experiments'

'Clean the kitchen'

'Spend at least an hour away from a case -more in case of emergency'

'Cup of tea'

"Sherlock, I-" John looked up at him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and he pulled Sherlock closer for a kiss. "Thank you," he breathed against his mouth.

"I love you, John. Never forget that."

"I love you, Sherlock. Always."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

... I never said the interlude wouldn't be angsty.  
Or wouldn't be related to past chapters.  
Sorry.

On another note, I have uploaded the first part of the Victorlock prequel, in case anyone's interested :)

Hope you enjoy x


	26. Diamond-1

"Sherlock," Molly closed her eyes in exasperation, "You've been following me around for the past 20 minutes in complete silence. Is there anything you need?"

Sherlock squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. "I need your help," he muttered.

Molly repressed a sigh. She grabbed his arm and led him to a chair.

"I assume this has something to do with John?" she said, sitting in front of him.

"It does." Sherlock cleared his throat. "As you probably know, our two year anniversary is coming and I wanted to give him something... special."

"The coupons were nice."

"Yes, they were." He smiled slightly. "I was thinking about something else, though. I want... I need to show him how much he means to me. I made a mistake a few months ago," he frowned, looking away, "and while things with John had been all right, I know he still has doubts, even when he tries to convince himself otherwise."

After a moment of silence, he felt Molly's hand resting on top of his own.

"Sherlock, you don't need a grand gesture for John to forgive you. Besides, John doesn't look like the type to be swayed by material things."

"I know that. That's why I wanted the gift to mean something; I want to... I want to show him he matters, Molly. But I'm going to need your help."

"Of course." She smiled, giving his hand a light squeeze. "When do we start?"

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Aaaaand we start our last arc, called 'omg the feels'. I have so much talent for this naming thing, I know.

Hope you enjoy x


	27. Letters-2

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is. Stop worrying."

"He'll probably think I'm about to die, or something. Molly, honestly, are you sure-"

"You asked me for romantic advice. This is romantic. Now go ahead."

"Why don't I just hire a few musicians to play for him at a fancy dinner filled with candles? That would probably be less creepy than this, coming from me."

"That comes later. Come on."

* * *

_'I get butterflies in my stomach when you smile at me'_

"...Sherlock? What is this?"

"A post it note, John. Obviously." Sherlock kept his gaze firmly on the microscope in front of him, a knot of anxiety in his chest.

"Right." John looked down at the post it note, and then back at Sherlock, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

He passed by Sherlock on the way to the bathroom, brushing his hand over his shoulder, clearly sensing Sherlock's embarrassment and not wanting to make him too uncomfortable.

He saw another note on the mirror:

_'You're amazing. You're fantastic."_

He smiled and put it inside his pocket, alongside the first one.

* * *

He found another one at the clinic, sitting on his desk (he didn't even want to think about how it got there):

_'The work would mean nothing without you by my side to enjoy it with me'_

He ignored the lump in his throat and greeted his first patient, unable to wipe the small smile off his face.

* * *

He found several other notes during the day (and seriously, how did they even got there?); from sweet, to slightly heart-breaking -which made him want to hold Sherlock and never let him go again-, to some that caused him to flush a dark crimson and required a few seconds of recovery.

He also got a rose from a woman on the street, who said it had already been paid for. He was slightly confused, and spent all the way home wondering if Sherlock had been responsible for it, which in other circumstance may have been ridiculous, but- romantic post it notes? Really?

The greatest shock was when he finally arrived to the flat and found another note stuck to the front door.

_'I want to spend the rest of my life with you'_

He could feel his heart beating loudly inside his chest while he opened the door, and he almost dropped the rose when he got in.

The floor was covered in rose petals, the only light coming from small candles scattered around the flat. There was another note at his feet, and he grabbed it with a shaking hand:

_'Kitchen'_

He made his way towards it, slowly; as if it were a dream and he would wake up if he made any sudden movements.

There was a small box sitting on the kitchen table, a note resting against it.

His breath hitched, and he could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. He grabbed the note and read it, a deep baritone voice whispering the words in his ear from behind.

_'Would you marry me?'_

* * *

**Author's notes:**

DUN DUN DUN DUUUUNNNN

Expect a bit of angst tomorrow. Because I'm a jerk like that x

Also, please let me know if you see any mistakes. Busy day ahead, so this was done in a rush; sorry.


	28. Promise-3

"No."

He felt Sherlock tense up behind him. He turned around and grabbed Sherlock's hand, knowing that he might walk out otherwise, if his mortified expression was anything to go by.

"That was not the answer I was expecting," Sherlock said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He carefully carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair and pulled lightly at it, so Sherlock would meet his gaze. "That was not my definite answer, though. I would love to marry you, Sherlock. I just think it's too soon. I think," John squirmed, licking his lips. "If you're just doing this to prove something to me, because of what happened-"

"I want to show you that you matter. Since that day, you keep thinking our relationship won't last, that I'll end up leaving you. You're _wrong_."

"Look, Sherlock, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this... Marriage is not the solution to our problems."

"Why not?" Sherlock frowned. "I love you, but you are still convinced that this won't last. I want to prove to you that it will. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I know you want the same thing, John." He rested his forehead against John's, his arm curling around his waist. "Please."

"I want to marry you, Sherlock... but not right now. I still think it's too soon." John kissed him softly, not wanting Sherlock to feel rejected. "Maybe in a few months we can talk about this again."

"We don't have to get married right this instant. We can be engaged and do the proper ceremony whenever you want. Just," he closed his eyes, tightening his grip around John, "think of it as a promise. We can be engaged for as long as you want, and it will still be a... _symbol_ of us. It will be away for me to show you that I love you and that I won't get bored of you, of us. And I-" He opened his eyes again, his hand reaching out to brush his thumb along John's cheek, "I will know that you won't leave me either. That even when I'm infuriating, when I make you mad because of the experiments or my dark moods, you still chose me and decided to stay."

Sherlock hid his face on the crook of John's neck, conscious that John hadn't say anything yet. Maybe this had been a bad idea, maybe he had ruined it, what if-

"Sherlock Watson-Holmes. I quite like the sound of that." He pressed his lips to Sherlock's temple. "Yes, Sherlock. I'll marry you."

Sherlock drew out a breath, pulling John impossibly closer. "_Thank you_."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I'm really sorry for not updating yesterday, I've been a bit busy.  
Same goes for this chapter, actually; I didn't have much time, so I hope it's not complete crap.  
Enjoy x


	29. Simple-4

"You proposed to John, then." Mycroft inspected Sherlock, who was sprawled on a chair in front of his desk, avoiding his gaze. "He refused."

"Wrong, actually," Sherlock said, glancing at him. "He was hesitant at first, but he said yes. Don't go telling Mummy yet, though. We'll think about the ceremony in a few months, but for now he's merely my fiancé."

Mycroft hummed. "Congratulations. I'm glad everything worked out in the end."

"Hardy," Sherlock snorted, turning his head to glare at him, "because I seem to remember you telling John how we wouldn't last, how I would get _bored _of him. And no, he didn't tell me," he added, "It was written all over his face."

"I was simply concerned about him, Sherlock. We both know you don't have the longest attention span."

"Think whatever you like. Just stay out of my business," Sherlock said, standing up to leave.

"If you need anything, regarding the wedding, do feel free to ask. And call Mummy when the time comes, I'm sure she will be pleased."

Sherlock stilled at the door and looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I will."

* * *

"Maybe telling Mother so soon was a mistake, after all," Sherlock muttered, looking at the photographs and papers scattered on the table.

"Sherlock, I don't even think we can afford this. Have you seen the price of these suits? How-"

"John, that's hardly a problem. Mummy has already offered to pay for everything. Think of it as our wedding present." He looked nervously at John, who still seemed completely bewildered. "I'm sorry about this. I'll tell her to slow down a bit; I know you didn't want to think about this so soon."

John turned to him and licked his lips, uneasy. "Sherlock, I don't mean to sound rude or anything but... I'd rather she stopped. Completely."

Sherlock's face fell. "Oh. Of course, I'll just- I'll talk to her, I'm sorry."

"Wait, sorry, I didn't mean it like that." John walked up to him and took hold of his hand, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. "I am grateful for what she's doing, but I don't... That is, I would prefer something simpler. If that's all right, of course, I realized that we should probably talk about it; I didn't-"

"John, it's fine." Sherlock's shoulders slumped in relief. "Something simple would be lovely, actually." He smiled. "Do expect a honeymoon that involves at least 4 countries. She won't settle for less."

John grinned, pulling Sherlock closer. "That sounds quite nice, actually. Though I don't know if I'm too comfortable asking your family for money."

Sherlock snorted. "She would actually be offended if you didn't. Don't worry about it."

John hummed. He carded his finger through Sherlock's hair, glad that his curls were already taking form again, and pulled him down for a kiss.

"I love you," he whispered against his lips.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

So sorry about the delay. I've been too busy lately, and I've berely been home. I had a free hour today, so here it is, the new chapter :)  
We're almost at the end, just one more to go!  
Hope you enjoy x


	30. Future-5

"I want to go to Sussex."

John, who was lying across Sherlock's chest, worn out and content after spending the day sightseeing, frowned in confusion, turning his head to look at Sherlock.

"Don't you think that's a bit much? We've already been to three countries, and we still have to travel to Paris tomorrow afternoon."

"I don't mean as a honeymoon activity." He rolled his eyes but pulled John closer, his hand drawing small circles on the small of John's back . "I meant when we retire. I'd like to move to Sussex."

"Odd choice, coming from you. Isn't it a bit... well, boring, for your taste? You'll go mad in a week."

Sherlock huffed. "Surely you didn't think we would be chasing after criminals our whole lives? No matter how tempting that idea might sound."

"Hmm," John pressed a kiss to his neck, nuzzling at it. "And what, may I ask, will we do once we move there? You may not be fit for detective work a few years from now, but I'm sure your mind will be as sharp as ever."

"I want to keep bees."

"Bees?"

"Yes." Sherlock cleared his throat. "It has always been a fascination of mine; bees are extraordinary creatures."

John chuckled. "If you say so, love."

They spent a few minutes in silence, until Sherlock spoke up. "That is, if the idea appeals to you, of course. I realize I should have probably asked."

John smiled a bit at the hesitance in Sherlock's voice, and brushed his lips against his throat again. "It sounds lovely. Anywhere sounds perfect, as long as I'm with you."

John felt a warm hand on his cheek, followed by soft lips pressing lightly against his own.

"I concur," Sherlock breathed, their breaths mingling together.

John smiled against his lips, brushing his nose against his. "Has marriage mellowed you already?"

"Perhaps. But only because of you. And always for you_. Never forget that_, _John_," Sherlock whispered, leaning forward to kiss John again.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

And we have finally reached the end! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed this story, I kope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

In other news, I'll be starting another one shot collection very soon, because we can never have too much fluff, right? It will be Johnlock, of course, with asexual!Sherlock and bisexual!John, so if anyone is interested keep an eye out, or follow me, if you'd like :)

Lots of love x


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